


Time Heals

by supercali_expiali



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Barry has to own up to his mistakes, Eddie Thawne Lives, F/F, Fake Science, Henry Allen Lives, IDK if Eddie's even going to be in this but he lives always, M/M, Protective Leonard Snart, Slow Burn, Timeline heavily manipulated for plot reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercali_expiali/pseuds/supercali_expiali
Summary: The irony wasn’t lost on Len that he was most likely going to freeze to death. Tomorrow’s headline: “Frosty Fiend Meets Frozen Fate.”The soft flurries burned like embers against his skin as he forced himself to sit. He cradled Lisa against his chest and just held her, hearing shallow breaths that reassured him that she was still alive. All his life, Lisa had been his responsibility and every time it really mattered, he let her down.~Barry makes a mistake that nearly costs Lisa her life. Everyone deals with the consequences.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> My original note for this story was just "He’s going to seduce the Flash from behind bars." But that ended up... not being what happened. Or even what the story was about anymore. I love GoldenFrost (KillerGold? lol) and Coldflash so they'll be getting pretty even "screen time" hopefully, tho it's definitely slow burn for both. 100% a self-indulgent fic, idk I'm just writing what I want to read lol. Chapters will probably be on the short side. Buckle up and get ready for some A N G S T.

“Shit,” he said. “ _Shit_ .” There was a gash above her left eyebrow that looked deep enough to scar. Lisa wasn’t going to like that. He wished she would move, or groan, or scream, or _anything_ to let him know there was a chance she survived the fall. He struggled to keep both their heads above the water. It was a losing battle so he settled for taking quick breaths of air, his breath condensing into little clouds in the January air, and swimming one-handed toward the shore.

Len couldn’t feel his fingers, or his feet, but continued to paddle and kick what felt like dead stumps past his elbows and knees. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer, obviously. Lungs burning, he finally ditched the parka he’d stubbornly worn up until this point.

As carefully as he could without the feeling in most of his extremities, Len dragged his sister out of the water and collapsed next to her on the frozen shore. It might have been his delicate sensibilities, but between surviving a jump off a burning bridge and a not-so-voluntary dip in Central’s bay, Len figured he’d had enough near-death experiences for one evening. The universe, naturally, had other plans.

It began to snow.

Len choked out a hysterical laugh that sounded more like a sob to his ears. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was most likely going to freeze to death. Tomorrow’s headline: “Frosty Fiend Meets Frozen Fate.”

The soft flurries burned like embers against his skin as he forced himself to sit. He cradled Lisa against his chest and just held her, hearing shallow breaths that reassured him that she was still alive. All his life, Lisa had been his responsibility and every time it really mattered, he let her down.

His own breath was hardly steady and his teeth felt about ready to chatter right out of his skull. He didn’t try to hold back his shivers. If they stopped, he’d really be in trouble. Somehow, knowing his body was still fighting to keep him alive just made Lisa’s stillness all the worse.

He was so fucking off script right now. ( _“Spontaneity is the spice of life, Lenny,”_ _Lisa smiled. “You should try it sometime.”_ ) The entire heist was a train wreck from the beginning and all he could do was stand there watching months of calculations go to shit.

If Lisa was conscious right now, she’d slap him upside the head and tell him to quit bitching about things he couldn’t control. Of course, she wouldn’t be unconscious in the first place if Len hadn’t let her fall. _Fuck_ , he wished she would just move, even a little bit.

“Sorry, sis,” he whispered, pressing a numb kiss to the top of her head.

The first thing a thief learned is Murphy’s Law will bite you in the ass. Every. Single. Time. There was no such thing as the perfect heist. If there was the slightest possibility that something could go wrong, it would. The line _will_ snap. The guard _will_ make his rounds early. The security _will_ be updated as soon as you finish casing the place from basement to roof. The only thing a thief could do was roll with the punches and the best plan was the one that accounted for everything going wrong at once.

Maybe Len’s lucky streak had been going on too long, maybe the distraction of having a nemesis made him sloppy, or maybe—more likely—he got cocky and never thought to prepare for something that couldn’t _possibly_ happen.

“Snart!” Mick shook him and Len wondered how he could have missed Mick Rory, of all people, sneaking up on him. Mick was about as subtle as a volcano. “The cops are on their way, we need to move _now_.”

“Lisa…”

Mick paused. Len couldn’t tell if it was for show or not. “Leave her, Snart. She needs more help than we can get from a backroom doc.”

Len snarled, pushing away Mick’s helping hands. “Don’t touch her!” Mick raised his hands, palms forward, and takes a step back.

“Len,” he said, nervously eyeing the fast-approaching red and blue lights. “You’re the smart one. You know this is what we need to do.” Mick slipped out of his coat and slowly, as if in the presence of a feral animal, wrapped it around Lisa’s shoulders. “We’ll break her out right away. Promise.”

***

There wasn't a clause in the Hippocratic Oath that said Caitlin was required to like all of her patients. Do no harm, aim only to cure: it was fairly straight forward and she never had an issue with it before. That being said, she never expected to become the personal physician to a woman partially responsible for torturing her best friend’s brother.

The entire third floor of St. Jude’s had been cleared out for this, which Caitlin was more upset about than she let on. For one, it was a terrible waste of resources for a single patient, one who was a criminal at that. But Barry and the CCPD were convinced that Snart would come for his sister. There were more badges than scrubs in sight and Caitlin still didn’t think they’d stand a chance if Leonard Snart made a serious effort against them.

She petitioned Captain Singh to move Lisa Snart to STAR Labs as soon as she was stable. So far she had been met with raised eyebrows and pointed silence, but she was fairly certain she was making progress.

Caitlin couldn’t help feeling relieved every time she passed the guards and found her patient just as comatose as she left her the day before. She was probably a bad doctor because of it. 

She would the first to say that she was only barely qualified for this. Yes, she had experience treating a long-term comatose patient— _one_ — but that was Barry and Barry’s circumstances were much different than Lisa Snart’s. For one, the only medical reason Caitlin found behind Barry’s coma was that his body had been so radically changed at a fundamental level that it needed a few months’ timeout to sort things through. The only danger Barry faced from his coma was the possibility of developing bedsores. (Which would never, ever happen on Caitlin’s watch.)

Lisa Snart, on the other hand, received some kind of brain trauma while on that bridge, the extent of which Caitlin wouldn’t know until the CT scans came back. It was plausible that Lisa’s coma was irreversible.

She didn’t tell Barry that, of course. Barry, who hadn’t left Lisa’s side since the police picked her up. Each time he asked, she gave him a vague smile and said she’s expecting good news within a couple days. How much longer she could stall, well, that was anyone’s guess.

(The test results were mediocre at best. Lisa Snart’s responses to stimuli were inconsistent and Caitlin knew that if Lisa didn’t improve within a few days, she would have to be moved to STAR Labs whether Captain Singh liked it or not. There was no point shutting down much-needed space in a hospital when Caitlin had access to higher-tech equipment just across town.)

Barry probably knew, or at least suspected, Caitlin was sugar-coating it, but considering that he refused to tell her what happened on the bridge, he was in no position to call her out.

“It’s head injury, right? Brain trauma?”

“Pardon?” Caitlin looked up from shining a light in Lisa Snart’s eyes. Barry wiped a hand down his face and his gaze didn’t stray from the woman in the bed. Caitlin wondered if he realized his knees were bouncing faster than humanly possible. Probably not.

Hesitantly, Barry looked to Caitlin. “That’s the reason she’s comatose, a head injury.”

“Could be,” Caitlin said carefully. “I won’t know more until the CT scans come in.” She was confident enough to diagnose it as a trauma-induced coma, but her friend looked like he was beating himself up over this without her confirmation. Barry nodded, drawing in on himself again. Caitlin quietly put down the flashlight and sat next to Barry beside the bed. “Barry, if something happened on the bridge, it’s not your fault.” Barry looked away, blinking rapidly. “You were doing your job, the Snarts were putting innocent people in danger. You know that, right?”

“Caitlin,” he said softly, “I put her in a coma. Since when is that part of the Flash’s job description?”

“She came here suffering from frostbite and hypothermia. We don’t know—“

“She hit her head,” Barry choked, hugging his arms tightly around his torso. “I grabbed her, I didn’t mean to—well, I guess I did, but I didn’t realize—“ he breathed deeply, forcing himself to slow down before his words start blurring together. “Using my superspeed, I mean. She wasn’t prepared for the whiplash and—“ Caitlin rested a hand on Barry’s back as he stifled a sob. She was completely in awe of this man who wore his heart on his sleeve. A hero who mourned for his villains. “What if I killed her?”

Caitlin rubbed his back and tried not to let herself dwell on the question for too long. If Lisa Snart died, Barry would never forgive himself. He would never forgive his powers. If he started holding back, if he reigned in his speed, Caitlin knew the Flash wouldn’t last five minutes against an opponent who meant business.

“Look at her,” Caitlin said finally. Barry hesitantly opened his eyes. Once she knew she had his attention, she steeled herself to say what no doctor had any right to say. “She’s alive, Barry. And I’m going to keep her that way. I promise.”

Barry’s eyes lit up, then he was crushing her into a bear hug and whispering his thanks at a mile a minute. Caitlin looked at Lisa Snart’s still features and hoped she could keep her promise, for Barry’s sake.


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeh this is an AU where Henry Allen isn't released from prison bc I thought the whole Wells/Thawne confession thing was silly, and also it was just more fun to write like this

Saints and Sinners wasn’t pretty. Its dark corners and smoky air weren’t just ambiance. If anything, the lighting was a byproduct of the bars patrons. No crook with any kind of reputation would want to be seen within two blocks of the yuppie places that have been popping up around the neighborhood. Times were changing, and a quality dive bar didn’t last long after a bad neighborhood turned trendy. As it was, the few places that were left to the less than law-abiding citizens of Central tended to attract all sorts.

Saints and Sinners was the kind of bar where people looked the other way if they saw something they didn’t like. Dirty cops, guns-for-hire, and Regular Joes rubbed elbows at the bar and maybe even enjoyed a game of pool or two. The only thing it didn’t tolerate was brawls. The bartenders were brutal about cutting people off, and if anyone started any trouble, there were usually at least three patrons willing to do some actual cutting. Nobody wanted the CCPD getting wind of this place. It was a sentiment Len shared.

Mick was drinking himself into a stupor in the corner, getting handsy with an old flame as he was prone to do after a couple pints. Len sat at the bar, a pyramid of upturned shot glasses in front of him. With only a slight tremor in his hand, he completed the pattern with the glass he just knocked back.

“I saw your sister on the news,” the bartender said, leaning on her side of the bar. Her piercings and tattoos gave her a rough look, but Len had known her since she first showed up in Central City, baby-faced and desperate for a job. “Anything I should worry about?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Vivian.”

“Mhmm,” Vivian looked pointedly at his pyramid. “I’m sure.” A couple of bikers tried to wave her down across the room, but she lingered. “I know it’s not much, but consider all this—“ she waved her hand over the shot glasses, “—on the house. Good luck.” Len gave her a slight nod. Vivian was better than this place probably deserved, but he was thankful for her all the same.

“Wait.” Vivian turned back, looking a little impatient. Len felt the corner of his mouth crease into his habitual smirk. “Mind turning on the news? Silly me, I forgot to pay the cable bill.”

“Silly you,” Vivian echoed, but grabbed the remote from behind the bar. “Don’t make a habit of it. All that crime coverage messes with the ambiance.” She winked like it was some kind of inside joke that half of tonight’s patrons would be featured on Newsline 9’s thirty minute Crime Watch segment.

Despite the dent he made on his sobriety, a shadow of a plan began to form. The CCPD was kind enough to tell reporters where they had Lisa and what her condition was. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the conventionally attractive newscaster announce that Lisa Snart’s injuries were minimal and she was making a rapid recovery. She was in police custody until her hearing could be arranged.

If she could walk, she was recovered enough for Len to get her out. Tomorrow at the earliest, if Mick didn’t do anything too stupid tonight.

“Mick,” Len walked over to the table in the shadows, “Get your things. We have work to do.”

***

The security posted at the hospital was a joke. He convinced himself this was actually going to work until he walked into his sister’s treatment room and saw the Flash, out of costume, and his mouthy doctor friend hovering over Lisa. She was asleep. God, he hoped she was just asleep.

“You.” Len’s tone was flat with anger. Cold. Guilt was etched in the Flash’s face and Len sneered. “Come to gloat?”

“Snart, I—” the kid looked close to tears. Len powered up the cold gun and aimed. 

“Stop it,” the good doctor commanded, stepping in front of Flash. “Mr. Snart, you can’t take her.”

“That’s  _ Cold  _ to you, Doctor,” Len drawled, fighting to stay calm. His hands shook.  “And I can do whatever the hell I want.”

The doctor had the audacity to look sympathetic, like she could possibly understand what he was going through. “She’s in a coma. She won’t make it through the night if you move her in her current state.”

Len felt the floor give way and he was falling. Then he blinked and he was still standing in front of the doctor and the Flash, but the cold gun was on the floor and his cheeks were wet.

“I’ll take care of her,” the doctor said. “She’ll get the best care I can provide.” 

The worst part was that Len believed her. She was one of those do-gooders. He knew if there was anyone he could trust Lisa with it was the Flash’s crew. Even if it was the Flash’s fault she needed help to begin with. 

“You better,” he said a beat too slow. “You’d—” 

He didn’t get a chance to finish the threat, because Joe West had tasered him from behind. 

***

Len was familiar with Iron Heights and he was about as impressed as he had been before. Which is to say, the only reason he wasn’t out already is because of his deal with the Flash. To keep Lisa safe, he’d do anything, including rolling over and playing nice for Barry Allen and his adorable ideals of Right and Wrong. No matter how ridiculous the guards’ posturing was.

Len knew he would get no special treatment here. To be fair, he made every guard at Iron Heights look like a complete idiot every time he broke out. There was talk about immediate and permanent solitary, but Len wasn’t an idiot when he hired his lawyer. That being said, it wasn’t like gen pop was sunshine and rainbows. Len was excellent at pissing off the wrong kind of people, and in a place like Iron Heights, that was everyone.

Dodging the Santinis and the Darbynians was tiresome, but it was the guards Len had to look out for. All it would take was one man with a grudge to turn a blind eye and Len wouldn’t be seeing his sister whether she recovered or not.

Up until this point, he managed to ignore his cellmate’s subtle attempts at getting in on Len’s non-existent escape plan. But he was no saint, there was only so much “I know this place like the back of my hand,” and “You could use a guy like me, Snart,” Len could stand before he lost his patience. His cellmate was fifty-something, balding, and missing his front teeth. Ford was his name, though Len didn’t care enough to ask if it was his given or family name. A little birdy told Len he was in for vehicular manslaughter, which was thankfully boring and not mob-related. The last thing Len needed was having to worry about his cellmate killing him in his sleep.

“—Think about it,” Ford finished yet another pitch, accompanied by a slight whistle after each breath. Len wondered if being paired with this moron was part of the warden’s revenge. If it was, Len appreciated the deviousness and planning that had gone into it. Subtle, yet very, very effective.

“Don’t count on it,” Len said, not looking up from his game of solitaire. Ford gave him a dirty look, but managed to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the hour. Len slipped out of their cell as soon as he was allowed.

Iron Heights seemed to take pleasure in living up to its name. Everything was dull grey or rust red. The inmates in grey jumpsuits, the concrete and cinder block walls, the snow-covered rec yard. Even the sky above the prison seemed bleached of color. Len had never stayed longer than two weeks. He was hoping he would never have to. Prison wasn’t really his cup of tea.

He wouldn’t be given a work detail until he proved he wasn’t an immediate danger to the other inmates. In the meantime, all he had was time. Gen pop didn’t have what Len would call free reign between lunch and dinner, but it was the closest thing. Len just tried not to think too hard about how the highlight of his day had become choosing between time in the gym or the rec yard. Evenings were infuriating, with volunteers pushing their religious or self-help classes on him like door-to-door salesmen. (Len briefly entertained the thought of creating his own twelve-step program. Rogues Anonymous, a program for those personally victimized by the Flash.)

He walked purposefully through the dirty melting snow, keeping an eye out for friend and foe alike. His reputation for prison breaks hadn’t exactly made him popular with the lifers, even as it gave him near godlike status for the fresher faces in Iron Heights. Len didn’t care what they thought. There was only one lifer whose good opinion he needed right then. 

“Doctor Allen,” he said, nodding respectfully. Even he was not above kissing ass when it came to meeting the parents. “Haven’t seen you in the yard in a couple days.”

Henry Allen looked at him blankly for a moment before recognition flashed across his expression. “Mr. Snart,” he said cautiously. “Or is it Captain Cold now? I’m afraid I’m a bit behind the news.” 

“Friends call me Len.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Can I help you, Mr. Snart?” 

Len smiled, just a little, at that. Yeah, he could see the resemblance. “That’s really up to you, Doc. I realize you’ve been out of the game for a good while now, but I have a medical question I was hoping you could answer.”

“I suppose I could give it my best shot.” Henry said hesitantly. Then, more resolutely: “You should know, I don’t care what you do, I’m not telling you anything about Barry.”

“You’re honest, Doc,” Len put his hands in his pockets and swept his gaze over the yard, taking care not to linger too long on any one group standing around. “I like that. It’s stupid as all hell in a place like this, but hey. Like father like son.” 

“I’ve met Lewis Snart so you’ll forgive me when I say, I certainly hope not.”

Len didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing. “That’s cold, Doc. But I’ll try not to disappoint.” Len felt himself being appraised and kept himself absolutely still. He wondered if he was being measured up against his father’s memory. He might have a chance if Doc Allen’s standards for Snarts started so low. 

“You had a question, Mr. Snart?”

Len smiled, sharp and brittle. “You know anything about comas?”

***

“Stay away from my father, Snart.” Barry was furious and, for a second, Len thought he saw lightning crackle in his eyes. They seemed a long way from their last conversation through a glass panel, when Barry told Len he knew there was still goodness in his heart. What a joke.  

“Can’t do that,” Len said curtly, mostly to see what Barry would do. He liked seeing the kid worked up, and frankly, he was bored.

“That wasn’t a request,” Barry said into the receiver. Len swore he saw the plastic crack beneath Barry’s fist. “If you hurt him, the deal’s off. So back. Off.”

“Cool it, Scarlet,” Len drawled, reclining as far as the cord allowed. “I’m not going to hurt the good doctor.”

“Then you’ll try to use him to get to me. I know you, Snart.”

“Obviously,” Len had to fight very hard not to roll his eyes, “you don’t. Not my style, and I’m a little offended you’d even suggest it.”

“Then why the hell does he matter to you?” It came out louder than Barry probably intended and they stared at each other for a beat, as if both shocked into silence by his outburst. Len took this time to look at his so-called nemesis. Worry was written across his expression like an editorial, the bags beneath his eyes more telling than anything the speedster had said.

There was helplessness there too, and for a brief moment, Len let himself feel a shadow of kinship. It didn’t sit right in his stomach.

“I couldn’t care less about the good doctor,” he said neutrally, forcing his voice to remain calm. There was nothing he could do to mask the fury in his eyes. “Lisa is the only one who matters in all of this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be stuck here while the ‘heroes’ who get off on locking people in their basement treat the only person I have ever cared about?” Was it just his imagination, or did Barry Allen just flinch?

“My dad doesn’t have anything to do with that,” Barry said hesitantly, as if it had only just occurred to him that maybe this had nothing to do with him. Self-obsessed little bastard.

Len agreed. “Let me assure you, Barry—“ he spat the Flash’s name like a curse, “that I haven’t forgotten our first agreement. Your family is safe. Which is more than I can say about mine.”

“Caitlin is doing the—“

“Best she can?” Len finished with a humorless chuckle. “Forgive me if I’m not throwing myself at your feet in gratitude. As much as it pains me to say it, you have somewhat of an advantage over me. I’m only trying to level the playing field.”

“By threatening my father?”

Len couldn’t believe that Barry hadn’t caught on yet. How on Earth had the Flash ever beaten him with zero observation skills?

“My sister’s in a coma,” he said with enough condescension to knock Barry’s high horse down an inch or two. “Your father, the doctor, is the only one of you so-called white knights who had the guts to tell me she might never wake up. And even if she does, there’s a chance she will wake up  _ wrong _ .” Len didn’t even mind that his voice shook, because the shame on Barry’s face was worth it. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him who put her in the coma in the first place. Your secrets are safe with me, Barry Allen. All of them.”

Later, long after Barry had finished his visit and Len was trying to fall asleep to the sound of Ford’s snores, he’d realize that he wasn’t even lying.


	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey thanks for all your lovely comments, i'm glad to see y'all are into the story! like i said we're in for a slow burn (ooh it hurts so good!) and we gotta get through some emotion-processing before there's romance but y'all i'm Hyped for it. also i love seeing my fellow goldenfrost fans out there this one's for you bbs

Caitlin removed the stitches from Lisa's forehead and her patient didn't even flinch. The smooth blankness of her expression was unnerving, just as Barry's had been. 

“Everytime I look at her, I can only see Dante getting hurt,” Cisco said quietly, coming up behind Caitlin. “I wouldn’t wish the whole comatose thing on anyone, but is it bad if I wish she doesn't wake up?”

 _Do no harm_ , Caitlin reminded herself. _Do no harm. Do no harm._

She smiled sadly at him. “You can wish whatever you want, Cisco. I still have to help her.” 

Cisco sighed. “I know. I know, and I'm not saying I'd want you to _not_ treat her. I mean, you're the best, she needs you. And I know she's not like, _evil_ or anything. Just a little… amoral. I'm just, I dunno. I don't like having her here again. Things always get so messed up when the Snarts are involved.” 

Caitlin laughed softly. “You can say that again.” 

***

Barry woke up in a cold sweat, still seeing the image of Snart grabbing his unconscious sister and jumping off the bridge. The look in his eyes — _fear_ — like nothing Barry had ever seen before. Snart was all swagger and confidence, never afraid. But that night he jumped off a bridge rather than face the Flash. 

He felt his chest constrict and realized he’d been holding his breath. Air rushed into his lungs and when he exhaled it sounded like a sob. The clock read 3:07, but that didn’t stop him from groping for his phone. He curled into a ball and drew his duvet over his head while he listened to the phone ring. 

“Barry? What... are you okay? It’s three in the morning, what—”

“Iris, I messed up,” Barry whispered. He screwed his eyes shut and listened to her sleepy protests. “I see it every time I put on the suit.”

“You were trying to stop three armed criminals,” Iris insisted, beginning to sound more alert. She was familiar with these early morning chats by now. “People make mistakes, Barr.” 

“They’re not metas, I shouldn’t have been going after them at all. I got so, so caught up in Snart’s game—”

“Exactly, it’s all Snart’s doing.”

Barry shook his head before he remembered that Iris couldn’t see him. “No.”

“No?”

“I’m responsible for this, Iris. I’m just like all the other metas. I’m dangerous to normal people.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a hero.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why everyone else affected by the particle accelerator went bad? Maybe that’s what the meta gene does to people. Just look at Caitlin, she’s one dead battery away from freezing us all to death!”

“Barry,” Iris said sharply. “I can’t believe you just said that. You _know_ that’s not true.” Deep down, Barry knew it was more complicated than what he was saying, but he’d seen Caitlin’s desperation when the batteries on her power-dampening cuffs ran low. He recognized the fear in her motions and expression. He knew that fear well now. 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he said calmly. “The Flash, I mean.”  

“Let’s get some sleep and talk about this tomorrow,” Iris said, slowly and reasonably like she was talking him away from a ledge. He remembered the Snarts falling from the bridge. “Things will be better in the morning. They always are.”

“No, I can’t just—” Barry made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. “I think I need to… not be the Flash right now. I quit.” 

“You can’t just _quit_ being the Flash,” Iris laughed, but it sounded strained. Barry could imagine her biting her fingernails like she always did when she was stressed. “Barry?”

“I’ll talk to you later. Night, Iris.”

“Wait, Barr—”

He hung up. Something released in his chest and for the first time since that night on the bridge he felt himself breath easily. 

***

Caitlin tried not to make a habit of falling asleep next to her patients’ beds. It was unprofessional and always left her crankier in the morning. 

But it was worth it sometimes.

Lisa Snart took a deep breath. And then another. And then one more before she was choking on the respirator down her throat. 

“Holy shit,” Caitlin gasped, and not just because her coma patient had woken up after three months.

Lisa Snart was glowing gold. 

“Why can't I just have a normal patient for once,” Caitlin grouched and gently took the oxygen tubes from Lisa's nose. She mustered up a smile. “Hello, Lisa. I'm Doctor Snow, we've met a few times.” Lisa nodded warily, her jaw clenching and releasing like she was practicing moving it again. “You've been in a coma for eight weeks. I'm just going to ask you some questions to see how you're doing, answer as best you can.”

Lisa hesitated, then nodded again. Caitlin cleared her throat. It was going to be a long night. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently. “Take your time, really think about it. Can you wiggle all those toes?” 

A concentrated look passed over Lisa's face and Caitlin saw the blankets shift around her feet. Caitlin fought a smile. That was kind of cute, actually. 

“Toes are all good,” Lisa rasped, then winced. “Ugh, I sound—water, please?” Caitlin handed her a plastic hospital mug with a lid and bendy straw. “Where the hell am I?” 

“STAR Labs,” Caitlin said carefully. “There was an accident. Do you remember?” Lisa shook her head. “That's alright, I'm sure it'll come back to you. Can you tell me how you're feeling?”

Lisa rolled her head on the pillow to stare at the ceiling. “Kinda… fuzzy? I guess?” Her gaze flickered to her gold-haloed hands holding the cup. “And I'm gold now. That's new.” 

“I'd say so,” Caitlin muttered, reading the chart at the end of Lisa's bed like she hadn't been the one to fill it out. “Did you show signs of the meta gene before now?” 

Lisa scoffed. “Fuck no. I'm no freak.” 

Caitlin frowned and sent her a chilly glare. “Says the glowing woman.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Maybe I'm freaky now, but I sure as hell wasn't before. What's that about, Doc?”

Sighing, Caitlin shrugged and sat down in the chair next to the bed. “Honestly? I have no idea. My best guess is the brain trauma triggered something. You probably were affected by the particle accelerator explosion,” she thought of Cisco's vibing. And her own… frosty alter ego. “There have been… cases. Of people not manifesting their abilities until months, even years, after the incident. It's not unheard of.” 

“'Abilities,’ huh?” Lisa echoed, raising a hand above her head, curling her fingers and rolling her wrist experimentally. “All the superpowers in the world, and I'm stuck as a human glow-stick. That's just great. Lenny’s never gonna let me tag along on a heist again, I'm a freaking literal beacon of light.” She groaned morosely, covering her eyes with her hand. Her fingers spread suddenly and she peeked out at Caitlin behind them. “Where is Lenny, by the way?” she asked, a little too casually. 

Where indeed. Caitlin swallowed thickly. “Uhh…”

***

"Bingo, Doc?" Len settled at the table next to Henry. The other tables in the small room were half-filled with older inmates. Some were lifers, some not. Len recognized a few elderly members of the Santini family who had been doing time since before Lewis was crooked. They gave him dirty looks before turning back to the caller at the front of the room. " _Really?_ "

"I like a little age-appropriate fun," Henry said. "Besides, I already have a vocation, technically. None of the classes interest me that much. And you can win ramen here." 

"'Age-appropriate,'" Len echoed, scoffing. "Speak for yourself." And yet here he was, setting up his very own Bingo card. It has taken some schmoozing to get let into the lower security rec programs, but the activity director had been so shocked that Len had stayed in Iron Heights longer than three weeks that he'd been surprisingly easy to petition. 

"You're not so far off," Henry gestured to Len's hair. "You keep it short, but there's only so much grey you can hide, eh?" He winked conspiratorially. 

Len rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. The caller began picking out balls from the tumbler, so he paused before asking, "Have you heard anything from Barry yet?" 

"He usually comes every other week," Henry said, evading the question. "He's a busy kid." Len tilted his head, wondering if he was hiding something, or just upset that Barry didn't come more frequently. 

"When you see him, tell him I want to speak with him."

"I already told you I'm not going to be your way to my son." 

“B-12,” the caller droned. “That’s B-12.” 

“And I told _you_ , this has nothing to do with him.”

Henry hummed thoughtfully, then said, “Frankly, Mr. Snart, I don’t trust your intentions. Or your word, for that matter. What kind of man kills his own father?”

The words struck something in Len that he’d buried deep and forgotten about. _What kind of man?_ Desperate. Cold-blooded. Ungrateful. He curled his hand into a fist, nails biting into his skin. He didn’t regret it. He wasn’t a good man, no matter what Barry chose to believe. 

“O-62. I said, that’s O-62.” 

Len didn’t respond immediately, just absently put down his marker on O-62 and the free space. He knew Henry was watching him, waiting for the dam to break. Len could feel the cracks too, giving way under immense pressure. He focused instead on the feel of the plastic bingo markers in his hand. They had a satisfying weight to them, like coins. 

"You said you met Lewis." There was no need for a surname. There was only one Lewis. 

Henry nodded, his expression guarded. "Briefly. We shared a cell for a month before he was transferred out." That was an interesting tidbit.

"Small world," Len commented neutrally. 

"He wasn't a good cellmate." 

The markers rattled like dice in his palm. The sound made him restless, put him in a gambling mood. He wondered if it would pay to show his hand so soon. 

"There's about eleven years between me and my sister. Different mothers, you know." Henry looked confused, but he leaned towards Len just a fraction as if already drawn in to the story. Len continued when he knew he had the doctors full attention. "Lewis was off the force by the time Lisa was born. Off the force, and serving his first sentence. It was nothing more than a slap on the wrist, really, considering all he got away with while in uniform. I stayed with Lisa's mom until he was released. Lovely woman, Heather. She did her best, but was too young to know how to take care of a baby and a preteen — She was barely out of her teens herself." 

"And when he was released?" 

Len shrugged. "He collected us, Heather left him." He couldn't keep the sneer off his face when he recalled what happened after Heather disappeared. He couldn't blame her, of course. She was young and his father was old and mean. She deserved better. Though sometimes, after a couple beers too many, he wished she had been strong enough to take them with her. "I babysat Lewis while he played criminal mastermind and raised Lisa as best I could. Dropped out of school, kept her fed and clothed. Protected her from Lewis. He was a bit _heavy-handed_ with his teaching moments, if you know what I mean." 

He saw Henry frown out of the corner of his eye and wondered if he was laying it on too thick. The tragic backstory only went so far these days. 

"You don't need to convince me you love your sister, Mr. Snart. It doesn't, however, make you any more trustworthy. Or any less of a killer."

Len smiled wryly. "You're right. Well, not entirely. I do love my sister, and I am a killer, but I'm not trying to convince you I'm trustworthy. I'm a liar and a cheat, never doubt that." 

Henry sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Bingo was forgotten for the time being. "Then I'm afraid I don't understand what you aim to accomplish here." 

"If you'd allow me to continue…" Len paused until Henry gave him a jerky nod. "As I was saying, Lewis wasn't the _easiest_ to co-exist with. Let alone take orders from on a job. He was a terrible thief. So when I turned seventeen I left. I left him and I left Lisa and I didn't look back." He gauged Henry's reaction. From the crease in his brow to the slight flaring of his nostrils, Len knew he'd touched a nerve. He took a deep breath then met his eye. "I don't regret killing my father. I'd do it again if I had the chance. But no matter how many times I could kill the bastard it would never make up for all the years I abandoned Lisa under his roof." 

Henry stared at him and Len forced himself not to shift under his gaze. 

"N-37," the caller yawned. "That's N-37." 

For a moment, Len was sure he'd played his hand too soon. He was sure Henry — bingo be damned — was about to get out of his chair and just walk away. Anyone in their right mind would after what Len had just admitted. But then something softened in his eyes, recognition perhaps. Maybe even understanding. 

"Barry's coming later this week," Henry said at last. "I'll see what I can do."


End file.
